Going Under
by FansieFace
Summary: He had shut those memories in a box somewhere in his brain, and had thrown the key out into the streets where his memories took place. He didn't want to unlock that box, but when somebody from the same past he worked so hard to forget shows up, he has to. What will his past bring, and what lengths will he go to protect his future?
1. Chapter 1

He was beginning to realize how far down in his memory he'd buried his teenage years. He could, in all honesty, only remember snapshots. A certain smile that was always present. A creaking noise. Stars. A fire escape. Cards. He couldn't remember much else. He had shut those memories in a box somewhere in his brain, and had thrown the key out into the streets where his memories took place. He didn't want to unlock that box; his only clear impressions of his past were of pain and loss, of wishes that were never answered, of never enough happiness. He didn't want to remember. His place was here now. He had worked his way up, all the way to the top, was now the editor of the World, had a wife, kids, money. His name was known for something good. He started as poor, a mere cartoonist, no family, only friends he was losing fast. When he would walk down the street, flashes of memories would flare. A certain alley would bring a feeling of sharp pain along his ribs. Newsboys calling the headlines would bring not only pride at for his paper, but a...familiarity. He didn't like it. He had forgotten on purpose, but things were tugging at him to remember. He tried hard to keep his memories shut up tight, and mostly succeeded, until the moment his box opened with a click, flooding him with memories, some that brought terror, some that brought tears to his eyes. And, surprisingly, some that made him smile. Many that made him smile. Many more than should have, considering how bad he'd thought his teenage years were. And it all started with that face...that voice...that smile...that person. Who showed up suddenly. Who ripped his comfortable life apart at the seams and brought him back to reality: that life isn't good for all, that life is terrible for most. And that was why he was sitting in his office, looking at that face, his mind swirling with the newly remembered. His soul had become a whirlpool of of emotions, and he was going under, fast.

 **This is a little tidbit, sort of a teaser. I'm really bad at staying on task, and so I'm posting this instead of a chapter on a story already in progress. If you want to know how this one ends, or really, how it finishes beginning, how it middles, and how it ends, you'll have to pay. That'll be five reviews, please.**


	2. Chapter 2

It started with a whisper, at least, it sounded like one from his office. Then the noise escalated quickly, until he could understand the words.

"Mr. Kelly does not take kindly to visitors who did not make appointments!" His secretary, Rebecca.

"I don't give a damn what Mr. Kelly likes or not! He'll see me, an' he'll see me now!" He considered opening the door, or calling down to security, but ended up letting the scene play out. He regretted it now. His door burst open, admitting Rebecca and a dark haired man who's face was somehow familiar. Jack was intrigued by the man, he was drawn to him and yet repelled by him; he wanted to invite him to have a seat and yell at him to get out at the same time. He couldn't place the face, but he was positive he knew it. It was from his past. He dismissed Rebecca with a wave and spent a moment looking at the man who had burst in, who had disrupted his orderly schedule. The man stared back at him.

"Jack?" He spoke quietly, as if he hardly dared to break the silence. But that one quiet, simple word, that one syllable in that voice, served as the key that opened the box. All Jack's memories came flooding back, and all at once he wasn't the editor of the biggest newspaper in New York anymore, he was ten, just thrown on the streets, then twelve, meeting the newsboys-newsies- and befriending and working with them, then fourteen, having the position of leader thrust upon him, then seventeen, lost in dreams and hopes, meeting the man before him as a teenager, meeting his future wife, going on strike, winning, then twenty, no longer a newsie, drifting farther and farther apart from his old friends as he was pulled upwards by his talent as an illustrator and later a reporter, pulled upwards by his fiancé, then twenty-one, getting married and seeing the pride on the faces of his remaining lower-class friends, then twenty-five, in that last argument with his last three friends that burned what was left of the bridges connecting them. Some memories had been forgotten, some had remained behind, but put together they told his story. Yet hidden in all the pain and sadness of his past was a certain happiness that had been gone for a while. Certain newly released memories wanted to make him smile, however hard he fought it, they tried to. Then he was gasping for breath, thirty once more, not Jack Kelly, newsie, but Jack Kelly, husband of the sole heir of Joseph Pulitzer, rich and powerful. And his memories were back, the ones he had left behind and his wife had helped bury, and he was sinking in the rising tide of them all, being crushed beneath their weight.

"Davey?" The name came out of him almost involuntarily, as an expulsion of air that carried sound on it, an accident.

"So you've decided to remember me, then, have you, Jack?" It seemed that now that the silence was broken, he wasn't scared to talk. More memories came back, of how shy and timid Davey Jacobs used to be, and how he came out of his shell. Now words left his mouth in a burning, biting way. A way that wasn't friendly; it was how Davey had spoken in their last argument. "Decided you ain't so good ya can't remember the boy who you owe. Everything." The words cut across Jack, leaving an almost physical pain. Davey's face was contorted, twisted in anger and pain, and Jack wasn't sure exactly why.

"Davey..."

"No! I don't want to hear your voice until I've said what I have ta say, you hear me, Jack Kelly?!" The man's voice rose to a shout. "You decide to forget all about me, about Crutchie and Les and all the boys! You leave them to pick up the pieces of their own brokenness after you abandoned them, and then you decide that you can just leave them all alone! I'm tired of this, Jack Kelly! I'm so sick and tired of watching you get richer and richer and not do anything for anyone but yourself, your oh-so-precious family, and your newspaper! In case you've forgotten, you used to be one of us! You used to work with us, you used to talk to us, and now you act like none of that ever happened! You owe absolutely everything to me, to the old newsies! And yet you ignore us! You choose to go on living in your perfect life, with all your money and fame and power and glory, and do nothing at all to help the boys of the kind you once were willing to fight for! Now the old boys need help, and who do they choose to try to get it from but you! You are nothing but a stuck up rich boy who would rather have his money than his friends, and you made your choice! I told them, and still they insisted I come ask for your help! I told them you wouldn't give it, but Crutchie never have up hope, or Les, or Race or Finch or Romeo or any of them really! They're all blind, just like I was! Too blind to see who, what you are! You're selfish, greedy, have too much power! The very things you once fought against! And. You. Enjoy it." Davey took a deep breath. "They still want your help. They still have hope. But I know better. I came. I tried." He turned from his stance in front of Jack's desk and moved to the door. Before leaving, he met Jack's eye once more. "I hate you, Jack Kelly. I hate you for what you've done. I hate you for what you've become. And I hate you for the trust you broke in every single one of those newsies. I. Despise. You." And he was gone. Jack was left to stand up and run after him, run past a startled Rebecca and run down the stairs, catching Davey as he was leaving the building.

"What?" The younger man spat.

"Let me take you to lunch. You can explain everything there."

"Why should I trust you? What reasons have you give me to believe that you won't ignore me, or poison me? How do I know you won't use it as a publicity stunt, lunching with the poor?" Davey was bitter, hardened. He wasn't the boy the memories kept showing Jack.

"I guess...I guess you don't. But I will listen. I can't make any promises until I know what exactly you're talking about, but I will listen."

"Fine. We'll go to Jacobi's." The two men walked to the restaurant, new memories swelling out of the box, of boys laughing and chattering and bickering, walking to the same place. Of sandwiches of days old bread, but never moldy, and cheap sausage, the only food they could afford. Now Jack could afford anything he wanted, as much as he wanted. Jack and Davey sat at a table, Davey's glare never leaving his face.

"All right, Dave. Talk."

 **I** **gave in. It was written, and I couldn't wait. I'm** ** _so bad_** **at making myself keep to these sort of promises! So bad! So here you go! Featuring Angry!Davey! Never written him before. He's usually so calm...oh well! My Davey muse was yelling and it got written here! Have fun! I'm just going to wait two days between chapters. Otherwise I'll drive myself crazy with everything I have written and I'm not posting it.**


	3. Chapter 3

"When you became the editor, some of the boys were thrilled. They thought you'd help us, make things better for the newsies and the poor. They seemed to forget how you left them, all of them, how you left even Crutchie behind. They hoped that you would make things better for the poor." For the first time, Jack took notice of Davey's clothing. His worn, patched shirt that looked many years old, his scuffed work boots and torn heavy pants. "They never completely gave up that hope, I guess. Did you know that I kept in touch with all of them? That we still have a party at Medda's every year on the anniversary? I bet you didn't, but we do. And that was just a few days ago. We need help, Jack Kelly. We need someone with money to do something. We can't do this on our own."

"Do what, Dave?"

"Stop. Calling me. That." Davey growled out. "Only my friends get to call me anything other than David. And you aren't my friend anymore, Jack Kelly."

"Fine. What do you need me to do, David?"

"I'm only the messenger, Jack. They haven't told me much, but I know it's something big about to go down. Something that could end very badly for them."

"For who? The old newsies?"

"Yeah. They're...tangled up with the wrong sort of people. I stayed out of it, and so did a few of the others...but most of 'em are trapped so they can't escape. They need your help, Jack. I don't trust you, some of them don't trust you, but they need you."

"For what, David? I can't do anything unless I know what's going on!" Davey refused to meet Jack's eye.

"I...I can't explain. Even if I could...it wouldn't be safe to talk about here. Meet me...meet me here tonight, when you get out of work. Wear...clothes other than...those. Work clothes. Like mine. I'll take you to them. They can explain."

"Who exactly are "they"?"

"Race, Spot, Specs, Sniper, Knobs, Henry, Albert, Elmer, most of them. Pretty much only me, Romeo, Les and Crutchie managed to keep out of this...stuff." A face flashed in Jack's mind for every name.

"All right. Tonight." Before Jack could leave, Davey looked at him.

"Shake on it, Jack. Make this promise to listen unbreakable." He spit on his hand and held it out to Jack. He winced at the gesture, something he used to do every day. He spat too and shook, grimacing. "I'll see you here later, then." Jack put a few dollars on the table.

"Lunch. I'm not hungry." He left the deli in a hurry, trying to puzzle out what exactly was going on.

"Tangled with the wrong sort of people? Something big, bad, going down? What does that mean?" It didn't sound good. For the first time in a long time, Jack felt nervousness. For his old boys. As he entered the World, that feeling all but disappeared as he shifted back into editor mode. It grew steadily, gnawing at him, creating a hole in him. This would not end well, he could feel it.

 **Well, three days have passed without an update, because yesterday was so unbelievably crazy that I didn't have wifi to post with. Oops. I'll try to update tomorrow.**

 **Just in case you haven't guessed, and I think you have, Jack married Katherine, and was accepted by Pulitzer when he became more "respectable" and worked for the World. I have Katherine working for the World as well. As his social status elevated, Jack lost touch with the newsies, finally stopping knowing them at all when he was twenty-five. Now he's thirty, it's 1912, which is the year of the Bread and Roses strike which is the strike the old newsies are involved in. Historically, the strike is real, but it took place in Lawrence, Massachusetts. So I moved it. I just felt like it. And that is the background of this story.**


	4. Chapter 4

"I'll be home late tonight, okay, Kath?" His wife smiled at him.

"Nothing to serious, I hope?"

"No, just a meeting. I'll only be a little late." Katherine gave him a quick kiss.

"Not too late! Lily will want to say goodnight, and Rosa would love to see you too!"

"Okay! See you later, Kath!" Jack watched his wife head out of the World building. He hated to lie to her, but he couldn't exactly tell her what was happening. He ran a hand through his hair as he walked to Jacobi's, nodding when he saw Davey sitting at the same table they'd been sitting at earlier. When he emerged from the restroom, he was wearing a heavy denim shirt, work pants, and thick work boots.

"You made it." Davey looked neither happy nor angry, just indifferent. "Where'd ya get the clothes?"

"Bought them off a printer's assistant. Gave him enough money to buy himself a new extra set. This was his before."

"Elaborate plan to meet men you abandoned when they were boys."

"David, you asked me for help, I came to see what's going on. If you don't want me around, I'll leave. If you do, stop." Davey sighed.

"Let's just go, Jack." The two men walked out of the building, Davey leading Jack through Manhattan, through alleys that would have once been an extension of home to Jack that now made him nervous. He remembered how Davey used to be the one who would be scared walking in the city. Times had changed, and so had he. So had Davey. He was led through the streets and alleys until Davey stopped at a small, run-down looking place. "It's a lodging house for mill workers. Most of us stay here; it's cheaper than apartments and most of us didn't end up married, anyway." He opened the door and Jack was caught in a whirlwind of memories. Faces he hadn't seen in years were suddenly right in front of him, changed enough to be different but still recognizable. Race. Spot. Finch. Specs. Romeo. Knobs. Buttons. Sniper. Henry. Elmer. Albert. More. He was sinking beneath a wave of memories, not sure exactly what to do until a finger was right in his face and his brain began to process shouting.

"-too good for us! Thought ya was betta cause ya got money! Ya jist left us, an' we hadda fend for ourselves, an' watch ya rise higher an' higher an' git richer an' richer while we'se gittin' less an' less food an' we'se thought ya was or friend, Jack Kelly! We thought you was our brudda, an' ya left us for da money!" Spot Conlon was yelling at him, red faced and wild eyed, more angry than Jack had seen him since the last time they fought. Race stood up and pulled Spot back to the table where the boys were all sitting.

"Spot, none of us like dis any more den you do, but if ya chase him away we lost our only chance." Spot's shouting faded to muttering and a constant glare. The cold, heart-stopping glare that scared away street gangs in its day, that had the ability to see a lie and stop a riot. And the full force of it was aimed directly at Jack.

"Waz goin' on? Why's Spot yellin'?" A bleary voice interjected from the back of the room. Jacky's eyes landed on a form that was slowly sitting up from a tattered couch against the back wall. It was a man, dark blonde hair, eyes puffy from sleep. He had a stiff brace on his right leg, which was twisted and deformed. He rubbed his eyes, which widened when they saw Jack.

"Jack?" It was almost a whisper, but the room had gone so quiet Jack could hear it perfectly. He wasn't sure if it was quiet because the other men stopped muttering amongst themselves or if it was because that face unleashed a new flood of memories, of thunking steps and a positive attitude, of a bright smile and jokes always ready, of friendship and nights spent on a rooftop and looking at the stars and of page after page of drawings of that bright smile of his best friend and of sharing his every hope and dream.

"Crutchie." It was weird, really, that he had forgotten the boy, weird that he had chosen to lock those memories away. Because the memories of time spent with Crutchie were the happiest memories he had of his teenage years. Crutchie was the last one he let go, the last one he left. And still he had locked the memory of his face, his smile, in that box in his mind.

"Sorry ta break up da real tear-jerkin' moment, but we ain't gotta whole lotta time here, so..." Jack almost smiled. He remembered Race being a smart mouth, the one who would butt in at awkward times. Specs gestured at a chair at the table as if inviting Jack to sit. Jack sat and looked around at the old newsies again. Crutchie hobbled over, walking awkwardly, swinging his braced leg forward and letting it land with a thud before stepping forward on his good foot. When he was seated, Race began to speak.

"So I'se guess ya know about da mill strikes, yeah? Well dats one of our problems. We ain't got enough money ta keep stayin' here much longer, an' we ain't got enough for much food, neither. We figure, you'se got money, lots of it, so mebbe you'se could help us a littul?" Jack nodded. Money was no issue, and looking around the small, dirty place, he could tell these men needed it. It was the other stuff Davey had mentioned that intrigued him and made him nervous.

"Really, though, money ain't our biggest problem." Specs interjected. Race nodded.

"No. But our big problem is...hard to explain. An' it ain't somethin' we kin deal wid on our own. Dat's really why we need ya help. We...got all messed up wid da wrong crowd 'fore startin' work at da mills...an' da people we got involved wid is demandin' payment. It ain't money, an' we sure as hell ain't doin' it. You'se powerful in dis city now, Jack. You could stop dis 'fore it gits too bad, too big ta stop."

"Before what gets too big to stop, Race?" Jack asked quietly.

"Da gangs is takin' over, Jack-boy. An' dey's usin' us ta do it."

 **I hate reading cliffhangers, but I love writing them. This one isn't so bad, but I looks like some up ahead will be much, much worse. Over the next few chapters, more things will become clear about how Jack lost touch with the boys and how everything started and all that stuff.**


	5. Chapter 5

"What?" Davey exploded. "Gangs! I thought you owed somebody more money or something! Not gangs!" Race smiled, but it was a bitter, sad kind of smile.

"Don't I wish I jist owed money. Da gangs ain't like dat."

"How did you get tangled up with gangs, Race?" Jack was trying to think logically, trying to not freak out for the safety of his old friends. At one time, these boys would have appreciated his sympathy. Now, it seemed they just wanted his help, nothing more.

"Well...it ain't like we joined 'em or nothin'. We...had some tough times, an' went to 'em for help."

"Why would you go to a gang? What is the mater with you people! Why in the world would you think going to a gang is a good idea? Ever?" Davey was standing up, shouting at them. Crutchie looked surprised and anxious, Romeo scared. Jack was confused.

"You went to a gang for help? What sort of help?"

"First we needed money." Race explained.

"Dat we repayed 'em pretty fast. But later..."

"Dey's got a lot of influence in dis city, Jacky-boy. Ya want somethin' dey kin do it. Most of us went for different reasons..." All of them nodded at the explanation Spot gave, and Specs finished the reasoning.

"But dey knew we knows each other, an' wants us ta pay 'em back at da same time, da same way."

"How?" Jack spoke quietly and sincerely. This was what he needed to know.

"Dey organized da foist mill strike, ta weaken da mill owners. Now dey wants us ta weaken da city."

"How do they expect mill workers to weaken the city?" Race took a deep breath before answering.

"Murder. Kidnap. Blackmail."

"Of who? Who can you do this things to to bring gangs to power? In fact, why do the gangs want to run the city? They already rule the streets, apparently. Isn't that enough?"

"Dey's neva gonna have enough power, Jack-boy, till dey rule da woild." Spot spoke quietly, yet his words were powerful sounding. It was his "King of Brooklyn" voice, the voice he could use to quiet his newsies and any newsie around if he wanted. The voice that you listened to or faced the consequences. And now he was using it to proclaim doom on the city of New York, pretty much.

"Dey wants us ta find somethin' on Mayor Gaynor ta use for blackmail. Dat was da only specific person so far. We tried ta tell 'em dat it's pretty hard ta git blackmail stuff for a mayor, but dey said we had ta. Dey also said dat we might gotta kidnap or kill his daughter later. An'...an' dey's probly gonna tell is ta go afta...well..."

"Spit it out, Race."

"Afta Pulitzer an' Hearst an'...well...you, Jack. An' da editor of da Journal, too. Power of da press, ya know."

"After me? How?"

"Same as da others. Kill, kidnap or blackmail. You or someone close to ya. Wife. Kids." Jack's mind whirled. Gangs after him he could handle. But his family was the most precious thing in the world to him, and if they touched his Katherine or Rosa or Lily, they would pay.

"They ain't touching my family!" He didn't even notice his old street-kid accent coming back slightly in his state of fearful anger. The old newsies did. Some smiled faintly at the reminder of how things used to be, some were saddened by the sound of what they used to have, but they all noticed. "What do ya need me to do?"

 **So this is basically the set up for the plot. No spoilers, but I get to have fun writing this later! Yipee! For the reference, Mayor Gaynor was the mayor of New York during the time of the Bread and Roses strike, and he did have a daughter. The rest of the people who are not obviously historical figures will most likely be products of my imagination, unless I say so specifically. Reviews are greatly appreciated and may result in less pain further in.**


	6. Chapter 6

Three days. Three days since Jack had been brought back into the world of the life he used to live, since he had found out there was quite possibly a hit list with the names of him and his family at the top, since his memories that had been so carefully tucked away had been brought back, since his life had been flipped inside out. And since he had been told that the only thing he could do was wait for word from the old newsies of what he needed to do. He wasn't to tell Katherine or Joseph Pulitzer of what the gangs and thugs were planning, not unless a direct attempt was made on them. So Jack waited for three days in a high-strung, nervous state, constantly checking on Katherine at her desk and wondering how his kids were. Sometimes wondering about his father-in-law. But he was helpless. He was sitting at his desk, almost done with the day's work, when he heard Rebecca talking.

"As I told you last time, does not like visitors without appointments!"

"Let me in, please!" It was Davey. Jack stood eagerly and opened his office door.

"He's fine, Rebecca. Let him in." Rebecca nodded suspiciously and waved Davey through. "News?"

"More than that. You need to come with me. Now." Davey's tone left no room for argument.

"Where? Why?"

"To the lodging house. It's starting." Davey's expression told Jack exactly what was starting.

"Give me five minutes and meet me behind the World." Davey nodded and stepped back across the door. Jack hurried through the halls behind him, changing in a hurry and leaving the building through the print room. Davey was waiting to lead him through the city. The two hurried trough the streets, ignoring the calls of street vendors and newsies as they headed to the mill workers' lodging house. This time when they opened the door, it wasn't to a surprised group of men sitting around a table, it was to three men who looked sick and scared. The posture Spot, Race and Specs all shared made Jack see faces looking the same way, thirteen years ago. It was the posture and expression and emotion of complete defeat, of bitterness and sadness. It was the look all the newsies had shared when they thought the strike was over, after Crutchie got taken to the Refuge and Jack had decided that he was giving up the fight. Seeing that look on the same boys broke something inside of Jack, made him wish that he hadn't left them behind, that it would still be as normal as it once was for him to sit next to them and try to comfort them, to act like he was their brother. But he had messed that up for himself when he had walked away. They didn't need him to comfort them. They needed him to help them. Race looked up when Davey closed the door. He had bags under his eyes.

"Good. Ya came." Spot glared at him silently and Specs didn't even react.

"Of course I came. I said I'd help, didn't I?"

"Ya promises don't mean much, though, do dey, Jacky-boy?" Spot spat.

"Yes. Yes they do."

"Dey didn't ten years ago, dey didn't five years ago, why should dey now? Huh? Why should we trust ya?" Spot was shaking from what looked like a combination of anger, fatigue, and fear. The fear he saw in Spot's eyes scared Jack more than anything else. Spot was supposed to be fearless, tough. If something scared Spot Conlon, it was something to be feared by all. Race showed the same fear in his body language, and Specs was still looking at the ground with no expression whatsoever.

"You should trust me because I'm your only hope! I'm the only one who has a chance to stop this! And because...because I was wrong." His voice started out strong but broke when he realized what he was really tying to say. He was wrong. He was wrong to leave them, wrong to act like he didn't know them, wrong to act as if he was better than them because he had more money. "I was wrong. I should have listened to you and I want to try to fix things even though I probably can't but I still want to try." Spot looked angrier than ever.

"Yeah you was wrong!" Everybody in the room turned to face Specs at his unexpected outburst. Suddenly, his face wasn't blank, it was twisted in anger. Jack had never, ever seen Specs look as mad as he did in that moment. "You was more den wrong, Jack!" Jack was shocked at the outrage in Specs's voice. "Ya didn't only leave us, dis is all ya fault! It's all ya fault we'se gotta do dis! It's all ya fault!" His voice was cracking and breaking so that it sounded like he was almost crying, and when he met Jack's eye it was clear he was. Tears were in his eyes and starting to brim over. "It's all ya fault! I don't...I can't! I can't do dis! An' it's ya fault I gotta!" He head when down again and his shoulders shook. "Ya fault!" Davey sat down next to him and tried to calm him down as his tears and shaking increased. Race looked at the two, then at Jack.

"If dat didn't tell ya, dis is gettin' bad."

"Real bad." Spot said. Davey looked up from his position.

"Now this is the first time I'm hearing this too, so explain, please."

"We got out first target. Kidnap and high ransom."

"Who?"

"Katherine Pulitzer."

 **I missed a day again. This time because I watched a season and a half of Doctor Who in two days. So I could have updated yesterday, but I opted for the** ** _MOST AMAZING TV SHOW I'VE EXPERIENCED IN MY SHORT LIFE!_** **It did put me into a state of emotional turmoil and give me several new fears of harmless objects, but it is AMAZING! Anyway...ahem. Soon comes action and possibly some beating up of loved characters. Also, hopefully some semi-healed relationships! Yayyy! Now remember-Don't Blink, Don't drop the banana, and if you hear a clock ticking when there isn't a clock, don't let it get you!**


	7. Chapter 7

The silence in the room was almost as deafening as a room of shouting men. It pressed in, and Jack was visibly hunching over, sliding down the wall until he was sitting with his knees pulled up, staring blankly at the wall opposite him. Everything left him, all he ever learned and every thought except that there were people who wanted to kidnap his wife, to take her from him, to steal her. The silence was rushing in his ears, pulsing in a way that was almost a sound in itself.

Davey watched as the boy he would have once called a brother broke, as his eyes went hollow and his face blank and his knees gave out. Specs looked up from where he was looking just in time to see single tear fall, quickly followed by more. Jack wasn't exactly crying, he wasn't shaking or making any noise, but the tears were falling as he stared into blank space. The four other men in the room didn't know exactly how to react at the sight before them. Even when they had been newsies, living and working together every day for many years, Jack had never let them see him cry. The only time they saw him even come close was the night after Crutchie got taken to the Refuge, and Jack was pacing around, twisting his cap in his hands and muttering. They had never actually seen tears fall. This was totally new and unfamiliar and uncomfortable for them. This wasn't how Jack worked. Even after he left, many of them thought of the newsie he used to be as the prime example of how to be a leader: strong, brave, smart. He didn't allow his feeling to control him, he was fair and firm. He held to his rules, he punished those who broke them and never did himself. He might have changed, left his old principles behind with his old boys, but the old Jack Kelly was a person to be admired. To see the person they had looked up to for such a long time reduced to a man with tears running down his face and off the bridge of his nose as he sat on a dirty floor was strange. Maybe they hated the man he had become, and had looked up to who he used to be, but the man before them now wasn't either of those people. This was a man who was shattered, broken beyond repair as he was forced to consider danger to his family and as he remembered the mistakes he had made and realized that all this really was his fault.

Jack's head was swirling with guilt and fear and pain. He couldn't see much through his tears, just the blurred shapes of the other four men in the room and vague outlines of the table and chairs and couch, and it all reminded him of when he was younger, living in a place much like this one and with the same people and how he left all that behind for his life now and now that new life was being threatened and he wasn't going to have anything left. He was scared, scared to admit he was scared, and so very confused. He had to protect his life, but was his life worth it? His memories kept showing him a life that was worth it. A hard life, sure, but a life full of love and laughter and shared tears and shared joy, maybe not always with enough money, but always with somebody willing to help. A life that defined family, even if it wasn't a family with parents and kids, but with brothers. Jack knew, looking back, that his old life was worth it. It made him wonder if he had all that now. His memories all had that undercurrent of...something. Through all the tears, all the pain, and through all the laughter and joy, something deeper was present. Something that he had had in abundance that was now smaller, less prominent. It was the thing that had kept him sane when his boys were tired or grumpy or sick, the thing that had kept him from snapping when they were especially stupid. It was still there, it was still helping him, but now it was less important, and more of something he only had when he really needed it. It used to be something that was always in the background, a sort of feeling that made him smile and joke around with his boys, had made him draw his pictures of their life. The thing that had ultimately got him to where he was now, because he had become an artist with those pictures. He really did owe absolutely everything to those boys, not just his art but his family. Without Davey, he never would have started the strike, met Katherine, married her, moved up in the world. Without his boys, he never would have started drawing, never would have become a cartoonist, never have had the chance to be mentored to become a reporter, never would have been made editor of the World. Davey had been his friend, his loyal supporter, Davey had allowed him to elevate his status in the world, and now Davey was suffering for it, and Race, and Spot, and Specs, and all of them really. They had done nothing but help, and all Jack had done was push them away, ignore them, act like it had been all his doing. And now they were paying for it. They were paying for their trust in him all those years, and in turn, he was paying for everything that he had done. He was going to lose the most important thing in his life, his family, and none of it would have happened if he'd just remembered how much those boys had meant to him, how much they'd done for him, and how important they were.

His head was telling him that it logically wasn't all his fault, but his heart was saying that it was. They never would have gone to the gangs if he'd been there, if he'd helped them, remembered them. And Jack was inclined to trust his heart on this one. It was his fault. It was his fault, and he had almost no chance to fix it, but he had to try. Because if he didn't, everything would fall apart and never be the same, and maybe it would even with his best efforts, but he had to try. He _had_ to.

 **It's been a while for this story, hasn't it? This chapter took forever to write, and even now I think it sounds a little bit confusing. I think it works, though, to show how confused Jack is feeling, and how many emotions he's having. Hopefully the next update will be faster.**

 **(Updated per request of a reviewer who asked me to seperate it into paragraphs. Sorry for that.)**


	8. Chapter 8

After a while, Jack pulled his thoughts together and stood up.

"What can I do?" He asked, trying to make his voice sound strong and confident. The boys glanced at each other.

"Ah...dat's da problem."

"What?"

"Well...da gangs can't really...know...dat you'se helpin' us, see? If dey does...dey ain't the most forgivin' of people. Dey threatened ta kill us if we don't do dis stuff, an' dey'd probly git us if dey knowed dat we'se gettin' outside help."

"What am I supposed to do, then, Race? You came to me for help, and now you're telling me I can't! I'm not standing by and watching my family get torn apart! What am I supposed to be doing!"

"You need ta use your influence, Jack! Find things out about 'em, work behind the scenes, take 'em out!"

"How do you expect me to do that?" Davey stood up and put his hand on Jack's arm. It was the first contact between the two of them since they had shook hands, and the first friendly touch since they had lost the friendship between them.

"Don't you see, Jack?" He said quietly, a light of understanding and excitement in his eyes. "They don't want you on the front lines. You aren't the leader here. They need you to pull the strings behind the scenes, get the police to find out or something in a way that doesn't point back to us. You need to find a way to make it look like you found out about this on accident, use the information we can get you to shut this down. We don't need you to come with us, we don't need you to work with us on the inside, you need to be more of a person who will take what we give you and make it your own, so that we don't get hurt and you get protection for those who need it. That's what you do best, Jack! Take the information you're given and turn it into your own!" Race nodded.

"We don't need you ta be a leader! We need ya ta...ta be kinda what Davey was in da strike. 'Member that, Jack? He was always helpin' out behind da scenes, always givin' you advice, an' keepin' us all goin'! We need _you_ ta do dat now, 'cause we'se gotta stop dis thing!" Spot looked at him coolly.

"Ya said ya realize ya made a mistake. Dis is ya chance ta fix it. An' it's da only chance you'se gonna git, 'cause if ya don't do it, we'se dead. You'se had bettah make it right. Dis is ya chance, Jacky-boy, ya chance ta fix ya mistakes an' help us out. Be our bruddah again." Jack looked around the room, seeing four faces he'd grown up with, four faces he'd known as his family. Four faces of people he'd abandoned for a life he'd thought was better. But they were also four faces of people who were willing to give him a second chance, a chance to right his wrongs, to save his family, both the old and the new. He looked at all of them and saw them opening themselves to what they knew might hurt them in the end, but what had a chance to save them in the moment. Him. He was their last chance, their final stand, and if he was anything in the world it was a fighter. So he made his choice right then that he was going to fight for his old family, fight for his new family, and fight for another chance to make the world better for those who didn't have enough. He made his choice to fight for the little ones as he walked out the door, for the ones who were surviving on almost nothing and for the ones who needed him most.

"Newsies forever," He whispered to himself as he walked home. "Second to none." A promise he had made long ago and failed to keep that he was given a second chance to prove. He wasn't throwing away his shot at redemption.

 **It has been a very long time, hasn't it? Only two words: HIGH SCHOOL. All I can say is that my advisory teacher was not exaggerating** **at all when he told us our Chromebooks would be our best friends. You don't know how stressful it is to get home and realize you forgot your only Internet connection at school and you have a computer assignment** **due the next day before your only study hall until you've done it, and it was that moment in which I realized how much I depend on this wonderful device. So I apologize for leaving this for so long and for that meaningless rant. Also, I couldn't help but throw in a little reference. Anybody catch it? It's to an extremely popular soundtrack.**


	9. Chapter 9

Jack's favorite part of being a journalist had always been the research. He had always loved being out in the world, taking notes and asking questions. Writing the article was fine, sure, and he was good at it, but getting the information was his favorite part. He hadn't had as much of a chance to do that since he'd become editor, and it felt good to be collecting information again.

"Miles, go to the docks and talk to a Mr…" Jack looked down at the paper that Race had given to him, naming sources that might give up information on the gangs if the price was right. "Mr. Jameson. Tell him the price is set at twenty dollars, and might go up for the right information."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Kelly." The kid darted out of the room, leaving only one boy left.

"You sure you want me, Mr. Kelly? I ain't the best at movin' real fast." Jack flashed what he hoped was a warm smile.

"I need you, Piker. Only somebody like you can help me with this one." The boy scrunched his brow, looking at the crutch he had.

"Why?"

"Because I know from experience that even though most people see you as weak, you're stronger than most people, and people don't expect that. I need you to go to Brooklyn. Find Mr. Harris. He should be around the warehouses somewhere."

"I ain't strong or tough, Mr. Kelly. I can't even walk right."

"Trust me, Piker. If you can survive on the streets with a crutch, you can survive Brooklyn. If anybody stops you, tell them you're on business for the King." Piker's eyes widened.

"But I ain't working for Trainwreck, I'm working for you! If they caught me lying, I'd get soaked!" Jack smiled again.

"You aren't on business for this king. You're on business for an old one. The only one who made it through being king and passed it down. Anybody who lives in Brooklyn will know who that is, and if they don't, they don't belong in Brooklyn any more than you do. Just tell 'em Spot Conlon sent you."

"Spot Conlon?"

"He was the king years back. He was the most feared boy in all of New York, and some people still call him the King of Brooklyn."

"And you know him? How come a rich guy like you knows a newsie from a long time ago?" Piker seemed to realize that he might be being rude and tried to backtrack. "I mean, it seems kinda funny that you do, what with runnin' the paper and all. You don't talk to the newsies, do you?"

"I did. A long time ago, when Spot was still the king. Trust me. Gangs and newsies in Brooklyn will still know who you mean."

"If you say so." Piker said doubtfully.

"You can do it, Piker. I need you to ask Mr. Harris to some see me. Tell him there's money for him if he does, and tell him it's about striking."

"Money and strikes if he comes to see you?"

"Yes."

"Okay, Mr. Kelly. I'll do my best."

"I know you will, Piker. Boys like you always do." Piker nodded. "Head to Brooklyn for me." The boy limped out of the room, and Jack sat down at his desk.

"Mr. Kelly? Message for you."

"From who, Rebecca?"

"It doesn't say, Mr. Kelly."

"Send it in." Rebecca entered and handed him an envelope.

"Came in just a minute ago, while you were speaking to those boys."

"Yes, thank you." Rebecca looked at him before speaking.

"What were you talking to those boys about?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing. Business."

"Yes sir." The secretary looked at him suspiciously before turning out of the office, shutting the door behind her. Jack opened the envelope, unfolding the paper inside. It was typed on a typewriter, one that he recognized before even reading what the letter said. Katherine's oldest one, the one from the strike. It had a funny way of chipping out bits and pieces of t's and r's, and he noticed that right away. Then he started to read, and his stomach flipped upside down.

 _Dear Mr. Kelly,_

 _I regret to inform you that your beautiful wife and wonderful children are now in the custody of Luis Seymour. If you wish to reacquire these assets, you will kindly give a sum of $800. If the payment is made promptly, your women will be left safely in the park for you to pick up. If you wait, the demands will be raised, and we can no longer promise that your wife and children will remain unharmed._

 _With regards, LS_

Jack went white, clutching the letter in his hand. He stood still for a moment, collecting his thoughts, and then he pulled the door open and ran downstairs and out the door, not caring who saw him. He ran all the way to the boarding house and was inside, slamming the paper down on the rough table, before anybody inside processed.

"What in the _hell_ is this? Who took them? Where are they?" He was yelling, and he knew it.

"Where is who, Jack?"

"My Katherine! And my Lily and Rosa! Where the _hell_ did you take my family?" Spot picked up the letter and scanned it, inhaling sharply when he finished.

"Race, look." Race snatched it away, watching Jack out of the corner of his eye.

"Specs. Somebody took them."

"You said they told _you_ to take them! So where are they? Bring them back!"

"This wasn't us, Jack. At least, not out whole group. If somebody took them, it was some either Seymour's other goons, or…" Race trailed off.

"Or what, Race? Or else _you_ did, because you care more about your debts than about me?"

"You know what, Jack Kelly? I'd say Race has every right to care more about his debts than you! You left us, Jack Kelly! You left us alone and hungry and poor and dirty, so I'd say that Race can think whatever he wants to of you!" Specs burst out.

"That's not what I was saying, either of you! I was going to say, either some other group of Seymour's workers took them, or we have a traitor. Somebody willing to work for Seymour, who told him we talked to Jack."

"A traitor?"

"Those are the only two ways I can think of. Anybody do this?"

"Like they're going to just step forward and tell us! Don't be stupid, Race!"

"Calm down, all of you!" Spot stepped forward. "Jack, you too! All of you sit down, and shut up! Race, not okay. Stop making accusations you can't prove. And Jack, calm down. You know us. You know we wouldn't do that."

"If I knew you, Spot Conlon, you wouldn't be the one saying that, Specs would! And Specs wouldn't be the one yelling at me, him and Race would have to pin you to the wall to keep you from punching my face in!" Spot's abnormally calm expression snapped instantly. His eyes flared and he stepped closer to Jack.

"People change, Jacky-boy! Look at you!" The room, which had been swelling with more noise as people realized what was happening, quieted instantly. People looked to where Spot Conlon, a good six inches shorter than Jack, was meeting his old friend's eye. "Look at how you've gone from the boy who fought to change the world for people like us to the man who causes the pain! People change when they see what they can do, and I've seen a hell of a lot of pain and suffering caused by you and yours! Believe me, I'd like nothing more than to hit you so hard you see stars, but I've seen enough hurt in this world without causing more! The way I see it, you're our only chance to help fix some of the _hell_ we've lived through. And if I hit you, I might just ruin that chance! So you better be glad _I've_ changed, that _I've_ learned when the right time to punch is, or you'd be out cold right now! Come here and yell at _us_ for changing, will you?" Spot's hands had clenched into tight fists, and raised up, almost of their own accord. He growled lowly, before turning on his heel and walking into what Jack assumed was the bunkroom, cursing at Jack as he slammed the door. The room was silent, all eyes on Jack, who was staring at the door Spot had gone through.

"Jack?" Race's voice seemed abnormally loud in the silent room. "We want to help. We need you, and now you need us. But we need to stop fighting." He seemed to notice the look that Jack shot at the door again, and continued hurriedly. "It's not all you, Jack! Spot was out of line. But we -all of us- need to stop provoking each other. If we focus, we can do this!" Jack met his eye and nodded.

"Glad you agreed." Specs said. Race gave him a warning look.

"Let's just try to figure this out, okay? We might not have much time. Jack, tells us everything. Explain it all, okay? And we'll say what we know, and we're going to figure this out." Jack nodded. "And Dave, go talk to Spot, please? We need him, too. We need all of us to do this." Davey nodded and stood up, heading for the room Spot had disappeared into. "Alright, boys. Let's do this."

 **Boy has it been a long time, huh? Sorry about that, but high school really is crazy. Drama Club, classes, homework, trying to manage my sleep schedule. Oofda.**


	10. Chapter 10

Katherine was terrified, but she was a Pulitzer through and through, and that meant she knew how to hide her feelings. She was the only one awake at the moment, but she could feel the willowy form of Elsie beginning to stir, and she was sure her daughters would be waking soon as well. She was lying on her side, the nanny pressed against her back and the small forms of Lily and Rosa in front of her, and she could see a wall in front of them. Light was coming in from somewhere behind her, just enough that she could make out forms but not faces, so she thought that maybe they were in a closet or other small room. When she sat up, twisting around as best she could to scoot backwards, she found her hands were bound behind her with something softer than rope, but tougher than she could break free from. The knots were tight, barely loose enough for her hands not to go numb. Her head hurt in a throbbing, pulsing sort of way, bad enough that it was hard for her to concentrate, and her stomach felt like it was inside out. She pushed herself back until she found a wall, and leaned back. Elsie began to sit up as well, groaning softly.

"Miss Katherine? Where are we?" The nanny said groggily, looking around and finding the outline of Katherine in the dark.

"I don't know, Elsie." Katherine whispered. "The girls aren't awake, and I think we'd better be quiet."

"Who were those men, Miss Katherine? Why did they take us?"

"I don't know anything, Elsie. Just stay calm, okay? For me and the girls."

"I'm scared, Miss Katherine. My head hurts, and I feel sick."

"Me too. Just stay calm. I'm sure everything will be okay."

"Mama? Mama, it's dark. And cold. Mama, I'm scared. Where are we, Mama? Where's Daddy? Why did those men take us? Are we going to see Doc Evans, Mama?" Lily's small voice piped up in the dark.

"No, sweetheart, shh. Crawl over to me, okay? Can you see where I am?"

"What are we doing, Mama?"

"Just pretend we're hiding from Daddy, okay? Shh, you have to be quiet, okay? We don't want Daddy to hear us, right?"

"But I want Daddy to find us so we can be in the light, Mama."

"Shh, shh, just be quiet, okay? Daddy will come and find us soon, I promise."

"Elsie?"

"I'm here, Lils."

"You aren't going home, are you? You'll stay with me and Rosa and Mama, right?"

"I'm not going anywhere, Lils."

"Good." Katherine felt Lily crawl closer and settle down, leaning against her side.

"Miss Katherine, I think Rosa is waking up." Elsie whispered. Katherine strained her eyes and saw that Elsie was right. Rosa was shifting in her sleep, sucking her thumb and scrunching her face up. Katherine knew that look well. Little Rosa was about to burst into tears.

"Elsie, can you reach her? She's about to start crying, and I don't want anybody to hear her."

"My hands are tied, Miss Katherine. I don't know what I can do."

"Just try, Elsie, okay? You're much closer than I am."

"I'll try." Katherine watched as Elsie scooted closer to the three-year-old, trying to reach her before the tears started. She was too late.

"Maaaaaa-maaaaaa! My head hurts! Maaaaaa-maaaaaa!" Rosa wailed. Katherine winced.

"Hey, baby girl, hey, hey. Quiet down, 'kay? Can you quiet down for me?" Elsie whispered frantically. "Please, Rosebud, you gotta be quiet. Mama and Lily and me need you to be quiet." The nanny's soothing words had no effect, and Rosa kept crying hysterically and loudly.

"I don't feel good, Mama! I want Daddy! I want him to make me a feel good picture!" Katherine inhaled sharply at the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the door. She saw the whites of Elsie's eyes grow larger and knew that she had heard as well. The door flew open, and all four captives blinked into the light that flooded the space they were in. Katherine saw that she had been right. They were in a closet, large enough to fit them all easily, but a closet nonetheless.

"Well, well, well. Looks like all four of the lovely ladies of the Kelly household have decided to rejoin the world. And how are we feeling tonight, girls? Ready for some...fun?" Katherine looked up at the man who had spoken. He was huge. Rosa started to scream even louder when he appeared, and he shot an annoyed look in her direction before going back to his mocking smile. "Why don't we start with...you." He pointed at Elsie, who scrambled back further into the closet. She looked over at Katherine, apparently realizing the same thing at the same time. This man, whoever he was, though Elsie was part of the family. Elsie opened her mouth to say something, but Katherine shook her head slightly. It was quite possible that they were being held for ransom, meaning anybody not part of the family wouldn't be needed. If they knew Elsie wasn't a Kelly, things could be bad. "What's your name, girl?"

"E-elsie."

"Elsie Kelly, hmm? Well, pretty Miss Elsie, I think I'm gonna have lots of fun with that pretty young body. Boss said I'm not allowed to hurt any of you, but he didn't say anything about what I have in mind." The man lunged forward and grabbed Elsie's arm.

"No!" Katherine burst out. "Don't touch her!" The man looked at her, still smiling infuriatingly.

"Oh! Pretty Mrs. Kelly speaks up to protect her children. Would you rather I took you, then?" Katherine gritted her teeth. If that's what was needed, then so be it.

"I'd rather you hurt me than any of my children!"

"No, please, M-mother! Let him take me!"

"No!" The man pushed Elsie back roughly and took Katherine's arm instead. Katherine resisted the urge to flinch back and met his gaze. "She volunteered herself, now didn't you, Mrs. Kelly?"

"You are not laying a hand on my children!"

"Then you and me, we're gonna have some fun." Katherine allowed herself to be pulled out of the closet but didn't help the process. The man kicked the door shut roughly and Katherine heard Rosa's tears kick back into high gear. "You and me, sweetheart, you and me."

 **Yeesh. That got way darker way faster than it started out. You know, it seems like I say that every time I post. Apparently I subconsciously enjoy inflicting pain and suffering of different levels on all the characters. Also, who knew my Katherine muse was so protective? I mean, she only just met the Elsie muse like, two hours ago. She's just a natural mother, I guess. Also, Happy New Year, everybody!**


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